


Possible (12/39?)

by Mexta



Series: Possible [12]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, post-412
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 18:20:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1867734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mexta/pseuds/Mexta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kev weighs in</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possible (12/39?)

In the morning Ian wouldn't speak, but lay on his back with his eyes open and watched Mickey move around the room. After a couple of attempts at conversation Mickey stopped trying; he'd been through this too many times by now. 

Instead he got dressed, searched the living room for the phone, and brought it back into his bedroom to call the clinic. 

He'd been hoping to make the appointment for that day but it was Sunday and the clinic was closed. An answering service booked them for early the next morning. 

He made sure Ian heard the conversation, and when he was done he stood at the end of the bed with the phone in his hand, looking at Ian and waiting. But Ian just turned over onto his side facing the window and closed his eyes.

Mickey called Debbie Gallagher next. He needed her to line up the car and the wheelchair, which she promised to do. Of course she wanted to come with them to the clinic. Mickey glanced at Ian, then agreed without trying to ask. 

When that was settled, Mickey dropped the phone and slid onto the bed beside Ian. After a moment, he reached out to run a slow hand through Ian's hair.

"You're the toughest guy I know, Gallagher," he said. "You'll make it through this."

Then he felt Ian start to shake, and he stayed, hand on the back of Ian's head, until the shaking stopped.

***

Mickey didn't fuck women any more, now that he no longer had anything to hide. He didn't look for men to fuck either, but sometimes they found him. Usually it was one of the neighbourhood kids who thought hanging out with him would build their reputation, or a young twink who wanted to get banged by the local thug and maybe find some protection. He wasn't interested in any of them.

Mickey liked them sweet, but he also liked them strong. He generally needed to know someone could take him -- or at least put up a pretty good fight -- before he wanted their cock in his ass. Every now and again, during a brawl or after a shoving match with someone he did business with, he'd suddenly just know what they both wanted. Even then, once he'd started hooking up with Ian regularly, he didn't initiate. But now that sex with Ian seemed to be off the table, at least for a while, he was sometimes open to persuasion. Sometimes, in response to a firm push on his shoulder or just the right pressure on his back, he might let himself be guided into a dark alley somewhere, might undo his pants without speaking, plant his feet and brace his hands against a wall. 

He never spoke to the men he did it with, and he never looked for a repeat.

***

Kev didn't usually seem interested in his private life. But this Sunday night, after Mickey distracted himself by following a muscular construction worker out to the lane behind the Alibi, Kev shot him a curious look when he sauntered back inside. 

"So," Kev said. "How's the Gallagher kid doing?"

Mickey slid onto a bar stool and picked up the beer Kev pushed over to him. "Ian? Hangin' in there I guess."

"Doesn't seem to be at the Gallaghers' place much anymore."

"He's stayin' with me."

"He your boyfriend?"

There was no malice in Kev's question, but Mickey had to stop himself from asking what the fuck that meant. He frowned down at his beer and shrugged. "Yeah."

"He know you like to hang out in the alley with other dudes?"

"The fuck you gettin' at, asshole? You think I'm cheating or some shit?"

Kev lifted an eyebrow and gave an elaborate shrug. "Kinda looks that way, don't it?"

"Fuck you. Ain't any of your business."

"Maybe, maybe not. I bet the other Gallaghers would think it's their business."

"The other Gallaghers can suck my dick. I don't owe them any explanations."

"So if one of them was to tell Ian what you're up to out there ... "

"They can be my guest," Mickey snapped. "I ain't afraid of anyone saying anything."

"Okay." 

Kev went on with his work and Mickey took a few gulps of beer. He glanced around the bar. It was early and only a few diehards sat at tables around the room. 

"Ian knows," Mickey said, after a few minutes.

Kev raised an eyebrow. "Oh."

"He don't mind."

"So you guys have one of those open relationships? You do three-ways and shit?"

Mickey shrugged without answering. But it was a slow night and Kev didn't have anywhere else he needed to be. He kept waiting.

"No," Mickey said finally. "Ian ... just ain't up for anything right now." He looked up, feeling a strange urge to say more. "He's really sick, man."

Kev paused in his work for a second and looked at Mickey with an unfamiliar expression. "Yeah. I heard that."

"I don't ... ah." Mickey wasn't sure what he was trying to say. "I just ... I mean, I want to help him but ... "

"You try taking him somewhere? To get him some help?"

"Goin' tomorrow. I finally got him to agree."

"It's tough, huh?" Kev said after a pause. "Watching someone you love hurting."

"You ever ... ?"

"I watched V give birth to twins, man."

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Not really the same thing."

"Yeah, but it's not like I could do anything to help her. 'Sides squeeze her hand and say 'I love ya baby'."

"I'd even do that romantic shit if I thought it helped. He don't seem to care about it."

"Hm." Kev went back to washing dishes in the sink, looking thoughtful. "You ever think maybe the best way to help him is to help yourself?"

"The fuck are you talking about, help yourself? It's not me I'm worried about."

"Not that ya aren't worried about him, just that you gotta take care of yourself before you can help him. You know, like on airplanes when they tell you to put the oxygen mask on yourself before your kid."

Mickey had no idea what Kev meant, having never been on a plane in his life, though he didn't want to say so. He shot a look around the room. "The fuck you sayin', Kev? Hangin' out here every night ain't the best way I should be spending my life?"

"Hell, it ain't the best way I should be spending my life. But at least I fucking own the place now. I got an investment in it. A plan. What's your plan, Mickey?"

For a second Mickey remembered Ian's barbed words from the night before, and a kind of despair washed over him again. "Runnin' a tug shop and stayin' out of jail a good enough plan?" he said, mainly to deflect the question.

But Kev responded with surprising seriousness. "I'm not saying what your life should be. Only, if this is it then I can see how maybe Ian doesn't think you're gonna be able to help him much."

"Fuck you, man."

Kev shrugged. "Okay. Just sayin'."

As Kev went off to serve other customers Mickey finished his drink and stared moodily into the empty glass, wishing he could drink himself into oblivion more quickly. Since when was his life plan so important to other people? Hadn't he gotten this far without worrying once about his future? Why did it all of a sudden matter so much? 

For a moment Mickey let himself think about it. He'd essentially flunked out of school already. He had a wife and kid he had no interest in and no real way to support. He could barely read, he'd been busted more times than he could count and no one would hire him without being forced into it. School seemed hopeless; any job that wouldn't kill him through accident or disease was out of reach. 

The things he was good at -- shooting guns, robbery, fighting, intimidation -- scaring people and keeping whores in line -- they were useful for the kind of work he'd been doing. He'd never really thought about doing anything else. 

But Ian was right, sooner or later they'd land him in jail, just like his dad. How was he supposed to convince Ian to count on him? He couldn't even count on himself.

He shoved his glass toward Kev. "Another," he said, and slumped further onto the barstool.


End file.
